


Hierophile

by GemmaRose



Series: Kinktober 2020 [15]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Biting, Collars, Grinding, M/M, Marking, Religion Kink, Reunion Sex, Spark Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Spark Bonds, Wall Sex, mentioned Adaptus/Epistemus/Mortilus/Primus/Solomus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27026860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Hierophile: one who experiences sexual urges, preferences, or fantasies involving sacred or religious objects.OR: Being sparkbound to Literal God and then forgetting both it and him would fuck up any mech, really.
Relationships: Primus/Solomus, Rung/Tyrest
Series: Kinktober 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947760
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	Hierophile

It had been a very, very long time since Tyrest found himself at loose ends. For as long as he could remember he’d had purpose, a function in the grand machinery of Cybertronian society which not even war could strip from him. And yet, such was the state he found himself in, restlessly pacing while his fate was decided. A pulse of concern washed over him through the sparkbond, and he reflexively puled back reassurance that he was fine. He hadn’t suspected, when he had the slender orange mech separated from his fellow trespassers, that Rung’s presence would answer so very many questions about himself. But it had, the first brush of their sparks like a lightning strike racing through both their systems, spark-memory rising to the fore, disintegrating the barriers which hid their own memories from them so expertly Tyrest hadn’t even known they were missing until they suddenly weren’t.

Million of years of peace, flashes of warmth and love and laughter, himself arbitrating spirited debates between his sparkmates, his _family_. He would never forgive Adaptus for stealing them from him, and whenever the coward resurfaced he would make sure to remind the mech that he had not, in fact, _won_ their little war.

Rung nudged him through their bond again, this time urging calm, and Tyrest ex-vented heavily. “How much longer do they need to deliberate?” he huffed, falling into the seat next to his bonded.

“Not much longer, I’m sure.” Rung soothed, patting him on the arm. “Minimus is a kind spark, and you weren’t responsible for it being activated.”

Tyrest pointedly did not mention that Rung had been saying the same thing since the mechs responsible for sentencing him recused themselves. Thank Primus the crew were only trying him for intent to commit genocide, not the poor mechs who had suffered at his hands in the process of building the damn switch. Though, he supposed thanking Primus was a bit silly when the mech sat at his side, fingers smoothing over the fresh paint which covered countless patches. Ratchet had insisted on fixing his armour before putting him on trial, and Tyrest was sure Rung would talk him back into medbay within a deca-cycle to get his drills removed as well.

Even with his memories back, it was difficult to wrap his processor around the truth. That the mech at his side was the oldest of their kind, firstforged of Vector Sigma, Primus Himself. It explained so much though, not least Tyrest’s own proclivity for the sacred. He cast his optics over Rung’s frame, his simple orange paint job and smooth matte polish. “We should get you a new paint job.” he murmured, grabbing for one of his recently uncovered memory files and doing his best to pass it to Rung through the bond. Its mere revival had greatly eased the ache in his spark, but passing thoughts and memories through it was still largely beyond them. The skill would return in time though, he was sure. Unless they had only been able to do so thanks to Epistemus, but that seemed a touch silly.

“I enjoy my orange.” Rung said, prim and professional as ever. Over the bond, however, he pulsed... a concept? Protection, weight, pain dealt and received. Armour! That was right, when they were young Primus had worn armour with golden detailing. Tyrest still remembered its specs, he could acquire a set. Perhaps matching capes, as well. The lot of them had always been too attached to their paintjobs to take each other’s colours, but each of them wore the other’s symbols around their own on their capes.

“A decal, then?” Tyrest lifted a hand to tap his own chestplate, and Rung’s hand lifted to cover the clear disc which offered a glimpse of his translucent spark casing.

“Hmm, I’ll consider it.” Rung flashed him a small, secret smile. It lasted only a moment, then the door on the other side of the room opened and the leadership of the Lost Light came back out, expressions unreadable.

“We have come to an agreement.” Minimus Ambus said gravely, folding his hands on the table . “Which is, none of us are qualified to pass judgement on you, as all of us here were too much a part of the incident to be truly objective.”

Rung radiated satisfaction at his side.

“Yeah, what Mags said.” Rodimus nodded, folding his arms on the table and leaning on them. “So, Mags will be your parole officer, and Rung will do his- whatever,” Rodimus waved a hand dismissively.

“Rung will find space for you in his busy schedule, so when we are able to try you properly he can provide the court a proper psychological profile.” Ratchet said. Rodimus threw him a pair of finger guns, and Tyrest wondered if he could convince Minimus to declare the mech unfit for duty.

“Yeah, that.” Rodimus nodded. “We’ll find you a room by end of shift, too. Not right to keep you in the brig if you haven’t technically been convicted yet.”

Well, perhaps he wasn’t _completely_ unsalvageable.

“I’ve a spare berth in my room.” Rung said smoothly.

“Your room?” Rodimus frowned. “I thought you made that into an office.”

“A common misconception.” Rung’s lips twitched in a smile. “I found the office first, then the living quarters attached to it. Tyrest can room with me, that way even if I cannot fit him into my office hours I will be able to evaluate his mental state.”

“Well, that’s convenient.” Rodimus beamed. “Any objections? No? Great, we’re all dismissed.” Rodimus vaulted straight over the table, hit the ground in altmode, and raced right out the doors into the hallway. Minimus sighed deeply as Tyrest rolled his optics, but from Rung he felt only a soft pulse of fondness. Right, Rodimus was a natural matrix-bearer, unlike Optimus. No wonder Rung had a soft spot for the mech.

“Come, Tyrest.” Rung stood smoothly, offering a hand. “I’ll show you to our quarters.”

“Thank you.” he said, letting himself be helped to his feet. The halls weren’t crowded, but those mechs they did pass levelled unfriendly looks at him. He ignored them, instead focusing on the sparkbonds which still ached faintly, the mechs on the other end locked off from him. Now that he knew what they were though, he could probe the withered connections. Mortilus and Adaptus returned faint pings, but his connection to Epistemus yielded nothing, a ragged end hidden just behind the same blockage which separated him from the other two.

Rung led him through a doorway, and as the door slid shut behind him Tyrest realized this must be their room. It was... comfortable. Familiar, for all that he’d never set pede in it before. “Your taste hasn’t change much.” he remarked, and abruptly found himself pressed against the wall, a slender yet powerful frame tucked between his legs. A familiar EM field enveloped him, strong enough Tyrest could all but taste it, his optics flickering as charge not his own pulsed through his sensornet. “ _Primus_.” he gasped.

“That’s right.” his bonded purred, optics and chest window glowing just every so slightly too bright to be normal, his field nudging Tyrest’s insistently, arousal and eagerness leeching in. “I think it’s time we reunited _properly_ , Solomus.” he pressed memories through their bond, crystal-clear and razor sharp. Primus taking him in a berth large enough for five, riding him wildly out in the forests of a young and untamed Cybertron, locking a collar around his neck tagged with Primus’s crest, unsubtly groping his modesty panels at some fancy event.

“Properly, yes.” he mumbled, sinking to his knees to better kiss Primus, hands lifting to wrap around those gorgeous, narrow hips. A familiar hand wrapped around his neck, pressing him back against the wall, and Solomus moaned into his sparkmate’s lips.

“I need to find a new collar for you.” Primus murmured when they parted, lips brushing Solomus’s as they hung just slightly parted. “Make sure you can’t forget again, who you belong to.”

“As if I could ever.” he whispered, tracing one of his hands up Primus’s side to rest over the window to his spark chamber. Now that he had remembered, nothing would separate them again, he would make sure of it.

“Good.” Primus smiled, slinging one leg over Solomus’s thigh and seating himself atop it, the knee still between his legs rubbing against Solomus’s panel. “I’d hate to have to discipline you, so soon after we’ve found each other again.” he pressed harder, field hot with lust, fragmented images of what he wanted to do flickering through their sparkbond. “What do you want me to do, darling?”

“Be yourself.” Solomus replied reflexively, pressing memories through their bond of what had driven him wild with desire in their millennia apart. The images of Primus, the finery of the priests, the strict order and ceremony. “My frame is yours.”

“And my spark is yours.” Primus smiled, shifting to nip at Solomus’s throat just above his hand. “Would you like me to mark you, darling? Remind your frame what it’s like, to belong to us?”

His spark abruptly ached, instinctively reaching for bonds still locked off and cold, and Primus pulsed across their active one in apology. Denta scraped across his jaw as Primus’s hips rolled against his thigh, panel hot against his plating. “Mark me.” he gasped, and Primus bit harder, pressing sharp dents into the cables of his neck.

“Say my name.” Primus purred, and Solomus did, gasping it out as his panel snapped open and Primus’s knee pressed against his dampening valve. “That’s a good mech.”

Solomus moaned as the hand not playing part of a collar around his neck dropped to massage his valve rim, Primus scooting closer to rock his spike against his hip. “So pretty for me. My darling Solomus.” two of his slender fingers slipping into Solomus’s valve. “Will you overload for me?” his thumb pressed against Solomus’s node, and he shuddered.

“You- first.” Solomus managed to say, and Primus purred as he bit another dent into Solomus’s neck.

“ _Mine_.” he rumbled, adding another finger. His valve left thick streaks of lubricant on Solomus’s thigh, pre-fluid dripping from the tip of his spike, splattering hot on Solomus’s plating. “My lovely Solomus.”

“Yours.” he arched up into his lover’s touch with a moan. “ _Primus_ , I’m yours.”

Primus moaned into his throat, hips jerking against Solomus’s thigh as he overloaded, lubricant drenching the white armour. He almost hoped it stained.

That thought, plus Primus’s thumb slamming into his node as his lover spasmed, pushed Solomus over the edge as well, and he slid strutless down the wall with a desperate cry, valve cycling down hard on Primus’s fingers. His chestplates parted of their own accord, and Primus all but fell against him, mouth leaving his neck to kiss him fiercely as the first, most powerful spark Vector Sigma had ever forged crashed against his. Their last merge had been tentative, a search for answers to forgotten questions. This one was nothing like that.

Solomus bit Primus’s lower lip hard enough to make his sparkmate bleed, hands lifting to clutch him close, keep the incomparable warmth of that spark flush against his own. Primus poured into him, a rush of memories and emotions, sensations and thoughts, and Solomus responded in kind. Experiences they had shared, that they hadn’t, the lifetime they spent apart from each other, unknowingly split apart by Adaptus’s machinations. Not just each other, but their other sparkmates as well, Mortilus and Epistemus lost to the ages.

They would get them back, Solomus swore to himself. The two of them would find their wayward lovers and bring them back into the fold, remind them what it was to be Gods.

Primus overloaded again with a wail at that, and the surge of charge straight into his spark dragged Solomus along with him, his mouth blindly seeking Primus’s. There would be time to plan for finding the rest of their family later. Right now, he had a God to appease.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to any not-logged-in readers, but due to an ex who refuses to leave me alone I have had to disable anon comments. Kudos are still open though, and if you want to scream (or would like me to write a fic for you) come check me out on Pillowfort! No account required to get my discord, and I'm always happy to chat. [[Link](https://www.pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


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